


a light that does not flicker

by Vaynglory



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-03 00:18:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6589123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaynglory/pseuds/Vaynglory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin and his Champion, in a happier timeline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some background on my Champion of Cyrodiil: [Nevos](http://coattailsofdoom.tumblr.com/tagged/nevos) is a Dunmer, who was born in Bravil and abandoned at the Chapel of Mara there as a baby. He was raised by priests but noped out of that life pretty quickly, leaving for the Imperial City as soon as he was old enough. He's a roguish type who joined the Blades and the Thieves' Guild, and he and Martin are in an established relationship at the time of this fic. (Someday I'll write the story of how they got together, but it does not appear here.)
> 
> Title is from [Thunderclap](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=69NQExPWIB0) by Eskimo Joe.

Nevos could only watch, mute and uncomprehending, as Martin was enveloped in a blaze of light so bright it hurt his eyes to watch. He stood helplessly, witnessing the clash of claws on steel, the sky awash in flame, a clamour of red and gold. And then it was over; Mehrunes Dagon was gone, the great golden avatar of Akatosh standing victorious.

The Dragon shuddered and seemed to collapse in on itself in one last burst of golden light, and then there was just Martin, naked and bleeding, dropping to the stone floor of the temple. Nevos sprinted to his side, caught Martin in his arms before he could hit the ground. He took off his cloak and wrapped it around Martin, lowering him gently to the ground.

Martin was unconscious but still breathing, shallow, ragged breaths with a disquieting wheeze. He was bleeding from a dozen places, crimson staining the brown of Nevos' cloak.

Nevos took a deep breath, drawing on all his reserves of magicka, and cast a restoration spell. He put everything he had into it, draining his own magical energies to the end of their limits; then took a magicka potion from his pouch and drank it down in one gulp, tossing the flask aside, and repeated the process. Two potions, three, four, five; he lost count of how many he'd drank, his hands were shaking and his vision blurred and every nerve in his body was screaming from channelling more magic than he'd ever used in his life and it was still. Not. _Enough._

The bleeding had stopped, but Martin was barely breathing, his face pale as death, the life draining out of him faster than Nevos could restore it. He was out of potions. He was out of _time._ But... perhaps there was one last avenue left to him. One that he'd thought he'd left behind him long ago, when he left the Chapel in Bravil.

“Lady Mara,” Nevos whispered, voice cracking with desperation, “I know you and I haven't always been on the best of terms, but I need your help, just this once. For _his_ sake, if not for mine. Take my life instead, if need be, just... help me save the man I love. _Please._ ”

There was no answering voice, no thunderclap or ray of light from the heavens, and Nevos thought, _it's over. I've lost him._ Until he became aware of a growing warmth in his chest, in the tips of his fingers; a wordless feeling of peace filled him, a connection to a limitless source of energy.

He cast the restoration spell again, and this time it came easily, knitting together the invisible strands of flesh and sinews, pumping blood through oxygen-starved veins. Martin's breathing was strong and steady now, the colour returning to his cheeks.

Then the feeling of warmth and peace and connection vanished as quickly as it had come on, and Nevos was left drained, slumped over Martin on the temple floor. “Thank you,” he said softly, and passed out.

 

He awoke in the White-Gold Tower, in a bed with crisp white sheets. Someone had dressed him in a soft linen shift, the collar of which was soaked with sweat; he felt feverish and shaky, still exhausted from healing -

_Martin._ Nevos sat up with a start, heaved himself out of bed. “Sir, you need to rest,” said the healer at his bedside, an older Breton woman with a severe look, silver hair pinned in a tight bun at the back of her neck.

“Where is Martin?” Nevos rasped out, still struggling to stand.

The healer squinted at him. “The Emperor is in his chambers, resting. As _you_ should be, young sir; it was a good thing you did, healing his Majesty, but you've done yourself considerable damage-”

Nevos stumbled past her and made for the winding staircase up to the upper levels of the Tower. He seemed to be on the level where the Imperial Guards were housed; Nevos knew the Tower well enough after his exploits with the Thieves' Guild (he was going to have to have a serious talk with somebody about Tower security at some point, what with all those secret passages, but that was a problem for later).

He made his way to the Emperor's suite at the very top of the Tower. One of the Blades he wasn't well acquainted with (Belisarius? Baragon? Nevos had trouble keeping their names straight) was standing guard outside the door. “He's inside, sir,” the man said, with a resigned sort of sigh; the Blades all knew there was no keeping Nevos from Martin's side. Nevos nodded at him and entered the room.

Baurus was at Martin's bedside; he didn't seem too surprised to see Nevos there either. “How long...” Nevos began.

“You've been out for a day. He's been unconscious since we brought him in, though you did a good job with the healing – I'm guessing that was you?” replied Baurus. Nevos could only nod; he was still not entirely sure how to process what had happened at the Temple of the One, his desperate call upon a deity he'd long ago lost any faith in.

He took a seat at Martin's side, reached out to touch his face, then thought better of it and pulled his hand back. _Best just to let him rest_ , Nevos thought. Martin had barely slept, all those months at Cloud Ruler Temple, sitting up late night after night puzzling over the Mysterium Xarxes. _He's got a lot of lost sleep to catch up on._

Nevos stayed in Martin's quarters for the next two days, never venturing far from his side, sleeping in the chair at the bedside when he could no longer keep watch. (The healer who'd been in his room when he first awoke – who was the physician to the Emperor's family, Nevos learned – made her displeasure at this well known, insisting he should be resting. Nevos made it clear that it wasn't up for debate.)

On the third day, Martin finally woke. He blinked sleepily, murmuring something unintelligible; Nevos was beside him in an instant. A weary smile flickered across Martin's face when their eyes met, and it was the most welcome sight Nevos had perhaps ever seen.

Nevos took Martin's hand in his, brushed a lock of unruly hair out of his eyes with the other. “It's over,” Nevos said gently. “You did it. You saved the world.”

“Oh. That's good,” Martin replied, and went back to sleep, still clutching Nevos' hand. It soon became clear that he was not about to relinquish his grip any time soon, and Nevos had no choice but to lay down beside him on the bed.

He slept better that night, curled up around Martin in that absurdly huge bed, than he had done in a very long time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life resumes after the Oblivion Crisis, and Martin finds out something Nevos really should have told him by now.

Martin was crowned Emperor a week after the battle against Mehrunes Dagon, marking the first day of the Fourth Era. The days wore on into weeks and then months, as Tamriel slowly recovered from the crisis that had plagued it for the past year. While still not fully recovered from his own injuries, Martin was determined to be an Emperor worthy of the Septim name, and as such wasn't about to let a minor inconvenience like having almost died get in his way.

Nevos took on the title of Lord Protector, officially a combination of personal bodyguard and spymaster to the Emperor. Unofficially, he considered his role to be “making sure the Emperor doesn't die, and also that he takes a gods-damned nap once in a while,” though admittedly that was a bit of a mouthful. Nevos wasn't much for titles; he'd spent the last year or so collecting them at an alarming rate, but none of them had ever sat quite right with him. He'd never considered himself a champion, a saviour, least of all a hero. Protector, though – that, perhaps, he could get used to.

Along with his new title, he had also been presented with a new set of armour, in the Blades' Akaviri style, but with the sash and trimmings in Imperial red instead of the usual blue. Every piece was custom-made and fit him like a glove (including the gloves); he'd never had anything made specially for him before. It was nice, he had to admit.

It was also a right pain in the arse to remove, Nevos reflected as he removed his armour piece by piece, methodically unbuckling every buckle and unlacing every strap, then placing each piece on the armour stand at his bedside. The bed itself was immaculately made, in a way that suggested a lack of use rather than any tendency towards cleanliness; Nevos barely used his room, other than as a storage space for his things, but having quarters adjoining the Emperor's suite had its benefits.

He slipped into a loose pair of trousers and shirt, and opened the door dividing his quarters from the Emperor's rooms. It led into the study, where Martin was curled up on a velvet-upholstered couch in his dressing robe, a book in his lap and a glass of wine in one hand. Another empty glass was sitting on the table in front of him, along with the bottle; he'd clearly prepared for company. He'd also been there for some time, if the volume of wine still left in the bottle was any indication.

Martin looked up from his book and smiled at Nevos. “I was wondering when you'd show up,” he said, putting his book and glass aside and shuffling over on the couch to make room. Nevos snuggled up beside him, pouring himself a glass of the wine (a proper fancy vintage, as befitted an Emperor; Nevos preferred the cheap stuff, but frankly, he wasn't complaining).

“Sorry, dearest,” Nevos said, leaning over to plant a kiss on Martin's cheek. “Got held up by the new ambassador from Morrowind. Apparently I look like the spitting image of some reincarnated god-hero-person of theirs. Dunmer are weird as _hell_ , have I ever mentioned that?”

Martin just raised an eyebrow at him. “What? I'm not a _real_ Dunmer. Imperial scum and proud of it,” Nevos laughed, leaning into Martin's side. Martin pulled him closer, smiling fondly, and Nevos couldn't help but wonder just how he got so lucky. How it was that all of this happiness could possibly be _his._

Of course, Martin couldn't belong to him alone; he carried the weight of an Empire on his shoulders, after all. Sometimes it almost seemed impossible to Nevos that this was the same quiet, unassuming man he'd fallen in love with on the way from Kvatch to Bruma. Emperor Martin Septim was every inch the commanding presence his father had been (if not more so), whether he was leading an army or adjudicating a debate in the Council chambers.

But in those quiet moments, when it was just the two of them, Nevos loved him all the more. Those moments, when they could both put down their roles of Emperor and Lord Protector and simply be Martin and Nevos, were so badly needed by both of them. Especially Martin; he spent enough nights up well past midnight writing letters, or poring over reports from his advisors. _Some things never change,_ thought Nevos; even with no crisis taking up all of their attention, Martin still never got enough sleep.

They talked late into the night, Martin occasionally reading passages from his book out loud, Nevos sharing little anecdotes from throughout his day, conversations with ambassadors and nobles; he did an impression of the Countess of Leyawiin which had Martin snorting with laughter and almost spilling his wine, and Nevos' heart ached for a moment with the realization that he was the only one who got to see Martin so relaxed, without the burden of Empire weighing upon him.

Martin topped up his glass of wine; he was up to his third, now, and the bottle was nearly empty. He offered to do the same for Nevos (still only on his first glass), who declined. “You've barely touched your drink, is something the matter?” said Martin.

“It's fine,” Nevos replied. “Ceridwen's just ordered me to go easy on alcohol and potions after I...” he trailed off, eyes darting to the side. He cleared his throat. “It's nothing. Don't worry.”

Martin was staring intently at him now, eyebrows furrowed, all evidence suggesting that he was, in fact, worried. “Why would my physician tell you to do that? Nevos?” Martin didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to; there was a steely edge to his tone that would make a lesser man tremble. Nevos still couldn't meet his eyes. “What did you _do?_ ”

Nevos sighed. It was clear that Martin wasn't going to let this go. “After you- after the battle with Mehrunes Dagon, you were badly injured. Nearly dead. I healed you, but... it took a lot out of me. I drank a lot of magicka potions. Too many. Messed me up a bit, afterward. It still wasn't enough.”

“Not enough?” Martin's face had gone pale, his hand gripping the edge of the couch, knuckles stark white.

“I'm a terrible mage, you know that,” Nevos laughed nervously, hoping to lighten the mood somewhat. It didn't work. “So I... prayed. To Mara. And for some reason – it sounds mad, I know, but listen – I think she heard me, Martin. I couldn't have saved you otherwise.”

“It doesn't sound mad at all,” Martin said quietly. “You do remember I _became_ Akatosh?”

“Yeah, but you're...” Nevos gestured wildly in Martin's general direction. “You're _you._ I'm... I'm nobody special. And I turned my back on Mara, remember? I shouldn't have been able to do that. But I did.”

“You did,” Martin echoed, reaching for Nevos' hands with his own, gripping them tightly. His hands shook.

“Hey,” Nevos said softly, gently brushing the back of Martin's hands with his thumbs. Martin didn't respond for a long time, staring at their joined hands. “Martin? Are you all right?”

“I could have lost you,” Martin said. “I could have lost you, and I didn't even _know._ ”

“But you didn't,” said Nevos, standing and tugging Martin up with him, their hands still clasped together. “I'm fine, and you're fine, and that's all that matters, right?”

Martin released his grip on Nevos' hands, wrapped his arms around his waist and buried his face in Nevos' shoulder. They stood like that for some time, holding on to each other like survivors from a sinking ship.

“We're fine,” Nevos said softly, trailing a hand down Martin's back. “I'm not that easy to get rid of, all right? You'll have to try a _lot_ harder than that.”

Martin made a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob, and tightened his hold around Nevos' waist. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Nevos replied. Whatever came next, it was a promise he intended to keep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some possible points of interest:
> 
> 1) For the purposes of this fic, I've decided that the Oblivion Crisis takes place over a year or so, to allow for travel time (because seriously, Cyrodiil is fucking HUGE).
> 
> 2) Ceridwen is the Breton healer OC who made an appearance in the previous chapter. Nevos fears her. He is wise to do so.
> 
> 3) The conversation with the Morrowind ambassador is a reference to Nevos being the son of my Nerevarine, [Vanorey](http://coattailsofdoom.tumblr.com/tagged/vanorey). He's never met her, and knows nothing of Morrowind and its culture and politics, having grown up in a chapel in Bravil. I like to imagine the conversation went something like this:
> 
> Ambassador: "Lord Nevos, are you aware that you look exactly like the Nerevarine?"  
> Nevos: "I have no idea what a Nerevarine is, my dude, but it sounds delicious."

**Author's Note:**

> come witness my screaming descent into Elder Scrolls hell on [tumblr!](http://coattailsofdoom.tumblr.com/)


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